


Stay Close to Me, Please

by CorpusHypercubicus



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hiding Medical Issues, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, References to Depression, Slow Build, Slow Burn, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpusHypercubicus/pseuds/CorpusHypercubicus
Summary: It’s like swimming in the ocean, like treading water.  One minute everything is okay; the water gently laps against your chest and it’s just okay.  But then, unexpectantly and suddenly you’re being swallowed up by a riptide, yanked under and choked for air.Right now, it feels more like the latter.In which Viktor struggles a lot more than he lets on, and Yuuri remains completely oblivious until it's almost too late.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is, man.
> 
> It's just a thousand or so words of rambling nonsense because I'm trash for depressed Viktor and need more of it. Let me know what you think, especially about the way it's written (since it was weirdly experimental for me). I'll probably write more regardless, but comments are super, super appreciated.

Your best kept secret is the tiny orange bottle of tiny white and green pills that sits on your bedside table. 

Yakov is the only one that knows about them, and that’s only because he’s been there since the beginning. He was the one watching when all the cracks started forming, back when you were so much younger. He’s the one that recognized it as more than general teen angst. 

It’s like swimming in the ocean, like treading water. One minute everything is okay; the water gently laps against your chest and it’s just okay. But then, unexpectantly and suddenly you’re being swallowed up by a riptide, yanked under and choked for air. 

Right now, it feels more like the latter. 

It hasn’t been this bad in a long time. Usually the water hits right at your neck, poised to overtake you but not quite yet. Usually you can breathe. 

So, naturally, you’ve spent the better part of a decade perfecting your mask, making sure the media never catches wind of the truth. Yakov’s done his fair share of covering up your mistakes too, like the time when you were nineteen and he lied and said that you were missing Worlds to recover from a minor ankle injury when in reality you were in treatment for swallowing a whole bunch of pills. 

He’s stressed time and time again that you can’t look weak in front of them, that you can’t afford slip ups. You’ve got to smile, to endorse, to win. You must be charming and polite and handsome and perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

Your image has always been the most important thing for so long. You have to protect it, even if it costs you meaningful relationships. 

You wouldn’t have been able to keep up the façade for ten years if you’d allowed yourself to get close to people. It’s always been easier to keep your distance. That way, they’ll never ask questions. They’ll never dig too deep. 

You have Yakov, if you really need someone to talk to. He’s been more a father to you than your own, though that’s not exactly an accomplishment. Your real father prefers vodka to your “ice dancing”, as he calls it, not caring that it’s an entirely different sport. You count yourself lucky that you haven’t spoken to him in years. Seeing him now would only drag you down further. 

Besides Yakov, you have your rink mates, who you can make polite conversation with. You have Makkachin to keep you company at home. 

It not perfect, far from it actually; you’re constantly filled with self-doubt and self-hatred whenever you reflect too deeply on your choices. Which, let’s face it, is disturbingly frequent lately. 

You often feel like you can’t talk to Yakov. He has so many other skaters to worry about, and he’s been paying increasing attention to the purported next generation of Russian skaters. You’re old news; he doesn’t have the time to spend hours on someone who has maybe another year left in them. And in the end, you’re really no different from the other skaters. You’re not special; you’re not his son (as much as you might want to be). You pay him for his time. Sometimes you forget that fact. It’s only on the bad nights that you remember you’re just another source of income. When you stop bringing Russia gold medals, he’ll stop caring. 

You often wish you could open up to your rink mates, but you’re too paranoid to trust them. One media leak and you go from respected sports legend to pathetic crybaby. 

And Makkachin…he’s getting old, especially for his breed. You can’t imagine a world without your best friend, but you realize you’re going to have to soon. Even the fact that you’ve allowed your best friend to be a dog weighs heavy on your heart. 

Even still, you manage function, not very well mind you, but you still manage. You wake up, skate and train and smile (for others), then sleep. For so long you’ve been stuck in that monotonous cycle…

But then he came along, showing up as if out of nowhere. 

Yuuri…

Somehow, you think he’ll be different. You think that maybe he’s the key to it all. The confidant, the friend, the companion, the lover…he could fill all those roles, right? 

You feel like you might have a chance with him if his behavior at the Grand Prix banquet was any indication. The way he danced with you and for you, the way he clung to you as he begged for you to coach him…

But seeing him skate your routine with such beauty, such grace, made you question everything; every choice you’ve ever made or would make. It made you reckless. It made you crave something more, something new and fresh and real. 

It made you crave him, really. You began imaging this abstract future: one that you constructed entirely in your head, one where you’re truly happy and not just existing. 

That night, he lit a fire inside you. So you took the leap and abandoned everything you knew, chasing after the spark before it was snuffed out by the overwhelming tide of sadness. 

You know that suddenly showing up his family’s inn might be a little…much. You know that meeting him for a second time while naked is also kind of insane. But you didn’t think it would be a big deal. 

You never think. 

It’s only after a string of embarrassing come-ons that you realize he doesn’t remember the banquet at all. Yuuri’s rejection of your advances isn’t due to anxiety or awkwardness or inexperience. He doesn’t view your visit as a grand romantic gesture. 

He doesn’t remember at all. 

You start to wonder if this was all worth it. Traveling to a foreign country half-way across the world, abandoning your home and rink and coach…it’s probably one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done, and that’s saying something. Yakov sure seems to think so. You doubt that things will ever be the same between the two of you. 

By choosing this, you’ve effectively kissed your career goodbye. Even if by some miracle Yakov invites you back after this misadventure, you’ll never reach the physical condition necessary to compete at the same level again, much less take gold. 

You probably had one more good season left in you, one more chance to win gold before all the newer, younger skaters eclipsed you. Now they’re free to take your spot on the podium and break your records.

You try desperately not to dwell on it. 

So you try to make the best of a bad situation. You’ve already promised Yuuri you’ll coach him; you can’t leave now. 

Still, you wonder when he’ll figure out that you’re not the person he’s idolized for years. You don’t expect it right away, but you expect it to happen. 

He should be more sensitive to it, you think. He’s dealt with the same emotions before; he should be able to recognize them in someone else, someone he’s living in such close quarters with. 

But then again, wouldn’t his brain try to ignore all the signs? Surely it would be hard for him to accept that his hero, his idol, is no more well-adjusted than he is. 

It’s no wonder he doesn’t see it. 

You think that maybe he’ll figure out that something’s wrong over the course of those first few weeks. A renewed cloud of doubt and depression has settled over your head, making everything harder. It takes more effort to wake up, to move, to speak. You can’t even imagine how hard it would be to skate. 

So you avoid the ice at all costs, naturally. You make up some excuse that you won’t let him back on in the rink until he’s down to a more appropriate weight. You know it’s a bullshit reason. He can skate perfectly fine at the weight he’s at, even if it’s not ideal for competition season. Still, he could easily skate while he works off the weight he’s gained since the Grand Prix. 

You thought the rule would buy you more time to sort yourself out, honestly. Minako and his family always go on about how much trouble he’s had with his weight in the past. But perhaps he’s so determined to get back on the ice, to have you as his coach, that it practically melts off. 

Once you finally make it to the rink, you’re off your game and you know it. You flub a couple jumps here and there; you’re not as quick on your feet; your attempts at step sequences leave a lot to be desired. 

But through all of it, he doesn’t seem to notice, or at least he doesn’t dare say anything. He probably just chocks it up to jet lag and an uncomfortable, temporary futon. 

Weeks in, he finally voices his concern, gently asking if you’re having trouble adjusting to Japan, if there’s anything he or his family can do to smooth the transition. You paint on a tight-lipped smile in return, saying that everything’s fine because adjusting isn’t really the problem. 

You’re enjoying Japan; you’re enjoying small town life. 

You love the onsen and the homey little inn that’s so much warmer than your cold, clinical St. Petersburg apartment. You love Yuuri’s family and friends too. You look forward to Yuuko’s daily acts of kindness and Hiroko’s cooking and the triplet’s antics. 

But mostly, you just love spending time with Yuuri. Everything about him is entrancing, both on and off the ice. That tiny spark still flickers weakly, kept alive by every little thing he does. 

When Yurio shows up demanding that you return to Russia, a shot of fear spikes through you and you realize it’s because you want desperately to stay here, with the closest thing to a family you’ve had in decades. 

So you stay, even if that tiny, horribly part of you is screaming that this is all a stupid mistake.

You stay in the hopes that maybe that first day you showed up in Hatsetsu will be the beginning of Yuuri’s story of your love. 

And, given time, perhaps he will come to love and understand you like nobody else has.


End file.
